The water was pure and cold and came out of the Apennines tasting like snow melted in the hands of a pretty girl.
Pat ConroyAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: american
- Born: October 26, 1945
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Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery, like the idle curved tunnels of leaf miners on the face of a leaf. We must somehow take a wider view, look at the whole landscape, really see it, and describe what's going on here. Then we can at least wail the right question into the swaddling band of darkness, or, if it comes to that, choir the proper praise.
Annie Dillard